Scrap Metal Heart Chapter 2

K90’s capabilities were beyond anything I could have imagined. He didn’t just repair K70; he ventured out into the collapsed city and returned with food.

“This was all I could find.” He placed two cans of chili and a protein bar on the table in front of me. To me, it was a feast.

He then proposed a system overwrite for K70. “The mechanics and wiring that compose you are obsolete,” he explained to my old friend. “I cannot fully repair you. But with this update, you’ll be able to perform self-diagnostics. You’ll have a much longer operational life.”

K70 turned his head to look at me, a silent inquiry. If I said no, he would refuse.

“Is that okay, Ari?” he asked.

“Of course! It means we can be together longer!” Having lost him once, the fear of it happening again was a constant, dull ache in my chest.

Only then did K70 turn back to K90. “Then… please, proceed with the update.” He opened the data port on his chest. As the cable connected him to K90, he spoke one last, soft request. “Please… save my memories of Ari. They are the most precious thing I have.”

The data transfer was slow. I waited until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer and fell asleep on the small cot. I don’t know how much time passed before K90 gently shook me awake.

“Is it done?”

“Yes.”

I sat up and saw K70 sitting in the beam of sunlight. His posture was perfect, his back ramrod straight. Through the worn casings of his limbs, I could see blue energy coursing, fast and bright. He truly was more advanced.

“K70!” I scrambled over, moving past K90 to get to his side.

But as I reached out to touch his arm, K70’s head snapped toward me. His face, usually a mask of gentle mechanics, was now an unyielding slate of cold steel. “Unauthorized subspecies, Sector Nine—stand down.”

His words froze me. I didn’t know what to do. K90’s voice came from behind me. “The update is complete, but I haven’t re-installed his memory files yet.”

Oh. That was it. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I didn’t try to touch him again, just circled him, studying this new, cold, unfamiliar version of my oldest friend.

“I… read your memories. The ones with K70,” K90 said, stepping up beside me. “The life you shared was… beautiful. And you, Ari. You are beautiful, too.”

He knelt down on one knee. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I threw my arms around his neck. “Thank you, K90. You brought him back to me. You brought us back together.”

A smile touched K90’s lips, a genuine, human-like expression of warmth. His eyes were like glass, like the ocean, like a thousand other beautiful things that didn’t belong on the Brink.

But later, when I took him with me to the scrap heaps to find more replacement parts for K70, he vanished.